


Home Fires Flash Fics

by Medea87



Category: Home Fires (UK TV)
Genre: Flash Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29963403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medea87/pseuds/Medea87
Summary: One (or more) Home Fires fics, of 500-1,000 words
Kudos: 3





	1. A Line in the Sand, Of Jam!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The women of the WI gather blackberries to make jam.

The summer had been unusually mild with none of the sticky heat of late summer. Instead it felt like spring had arrived and then failed to say goodbye and carry on, on its journey. As if pausing in its motion, like a held breath, waiting in nervous expectancy for news from abroad before it was willing to carry on its way. But today the sun shone hot. A heavy heat hanging over the lanes and hedgerows and off into the distance. The children playing in the fields nearby, one moment visible, the next not; their visages flickering in the shimmering haze that hung over everything but their trilling laughter still quietly audible in the distance.

Miriam starts to hum, “Cheek to Cheek” and blushes as she notes the glances in her direction and offers a relieved smile when Erica joins in. Song peppering different parts of the laneway as they work along the highways and byways of Great Paxford picking blackberries. Mothers, sisters, and friends all working together side by side along the hedgerows. Fingers scratched and purpled by brambles and over-ripe fruit bursting on touch. Exertion causing hair to break loose from careful coiffeurs, curling damply against napes and temples. Cotton dresses darkening with perspiration in patches, noticeable when reaching up high stretching for a recalcitrant berry or bending down exposing a lower back as they arrange their wicker basket. All rosy cheeked, carefree, and light-hearted.

Erica leads their humming into full-fledged singing, Alison’s usual serious mien breaks out into a smile that lights up her face, giving her a lightness not normally evident. Spencer’s ring of the bicycle bell breaks the spell of the moment and Alison’s face drops, all quizzical and serious. It quickly becomes clear that Spencer is not there for the sole purpose of returning Claire’s bike as he continues to linger. Alison can scarce believe the awkward flirting that she hears. Sarah, turns placing berries in the basket at her feet, catching site of their body language; keen and interested but obviously very inexperienced in the ways of romance on both their parts.

“Lovely bicycle”  
“Isn’t he”.

Sarah, Miriam, and others breaking out into laughs and smiles at young distracted, infatuation. An inner lightness to add to the brightness of the day.

Despite Erica’s urgent flight, the day is calm with a rich feeling of contentment. It’s only when the hedgerows have been stripped of their produce, the air begins to cool, and the verges start to become dewy with damp that the women start to make their way back to the village. Their numbers dwindling as women break away to go into their own homes, figures disappearing in the gloaming. The women all sun burnt brows and noses, blistered heels and the occasional run-in stockings or a catch in a woollen cardigan.

The next day the heat of the sun has vanished but the heat from the boiling sugar is high, the hall further warmed by the previous day’s comradery. None other than Cookie are an expert at jam-making though Miriam has some experience. However, Alison’s mathematical precision is invaluable, and Laura is surprisingly competent under Miriam’s watchful eye. Jam; thick, swollen and darkly glossy, oozing into well-scrubbed jars. A successful endeavour for the new WI.


	2. Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Universe. People have always assumed that Frances and Sarah are sisters from the youngest age and it’s easy to understand why.

People have always assumed that they are sisters from the youngest age and it’s easy to understand why. Always together, skinny, knobbly kneed and snot-nosed the pair of them. Their fathers are friends and business colleague’s and while most would expect Frances to find Sarah annoying; this younger child she has been forced to look after; but she enjoys it. When they are very young Frances loves dressing Sarah up, her own personal doll. Almost the same as her, slim and pale with just the shade of carrot or mouse in their hair separating them.

As they grow Frances finds Sarah can be funny and sarcastic and more often than not, she will go along with Frances’ schemes. Frances enjoys having someone who will listen to what she says rather than pat her on the head and tell her she’s a “clever girl” or to “stop being so bossy”. Sarah is a good listener and Frances is a good defender, they tell each other all their secrets.

They spend years of Friday nights and weekends, ballet lessons, trips to the museum and odd days here and there together, all adding up. Near constant companions in the holidays, whiling away long summers in each other's presence. By the beach, noses peeling, sitting in oversized swimming costumes with ice creams in hand, the scorching heat beating down on them and the almost inaudible sound of the waves striking the shore in the background. In Frances’ back garden, under the shade of an oak tree, reading books, making daisy chains, and drinking sharp lemonade on pleasantly balmy days, the air sweet with honeysuckle. Going off into the woods and fields by themselves with a picnic at first light and not returning until the sun starts to set, feeling like this is their own secret, magical world.

When Sarah is fourteen her mother dies of influenza and shortly after her father dies in a car accident. While Frances’ parents physically take in Sarah, it is Frances who emotionally takes care of her. Holding her in bed in the night as she cries, Sarah’s body shaking with wrenching sobs. Washing and plaiting her hair for her when Sarah has no interest in taking care of herself, carefully brushing out the tangles and tying the end with a bow in her favourite colour. Cajoling her into walks to get her out of the house, reading to her at quiet times, and being a constant reassuring presence that someone else she loves is not going to leave her. Over time life ceases to be quite as hard and Sarah begins to live again.

Frances meets Peter not long after and when he asks her if she has siblings, she pauses before she answers, piquing his interest and tells him, “sort of, not by blood, but Sarah is basically my sister”. When they marry not long after and move to Great Paxford, Sarah comes with them. Peter doesn’t mind, it’s a big house and it will provide Frances with company in this new place when he makes his frequent travels to Manchester.

When they go to the first WI meeting Joyce Cameron greets them and asks, “You must be Mrs Barden, and Miss Smythe? ” they both nod in response as Joyce continues to ask, “Sisters, correct?”. Seeing their heads already nodding Joyce assumes an answer to both questions and becomes distracted by a call of her name across the village hall, taking her leave of them before they can say anything else.

After that the WI and then the village refer to them as sister’s and neither Sarah nor Frances disabuses them of this notion. After all, they suppose, they really are sisters just not in the way the village thinks.


End file.
